Johnny Rockets
by ColorM
Summary: "I just don't think those exact lyrics go in the s—" "Are you hungry?" / The one routine where Olivia eats despite the fact that she's not hungry, and where Charlie swallows more than his body can actually take. Olivia/Charlie.


**AN: **

I should stop writing about senseless things, seriously_—thinking about food and now Charlie's eating it._

* * *

**Johnny Rockets**

"I just don't think those exact lyrics go in the s—"

"Are you hungry?" Charlie asks, like an abrupt, butter knife slicing the conversation in half.

Olivia doesn't process much, because she_ was_ in the middle of saying something. Nevertheless, she turns to catch his brown irises and the coax they're throwing at her. In the shambles of the sliced conversation, she manages to understand the message as fast as she comprehends a song. _He's not asking—he wants._

"Yeah, _a little_," she isn't even hungry at all.

**_/_**

"Mmfg," he moans with his eyes shut, as he engulfs the cheeseburger. His cheeks stuffed like two bubbles.

Olivia doesn't even touch her food, the false state of hunger evident. She fails to even appear hungry and anyway, she doesn't think he even cares. He's got his heart on that burger, the girl's scared he might eat it. Her laughter simmers just at the sight, fizzy from her throat.

"What?" He stops, his voice seasoned with offense. The two cheeks still full of whatever the heck is in that burger.

"Nothing, you just—you're cheeks—nothing." Her words stumble through laughter, and she eventually just waves her hands. He shrugs indifferently, heart consumed in the burger between his hands. He's such a mess with the ketchup stains splotched at the sides of his mouth, like messy paint and he has no clue.

She never tells him about it, because it'll be funny when he steps outside.

It is.

**/**

"_So, I told Wen we needed to change up some of the—"_

"_Do you want to get some fries or something?" _

Olivia hears it, the sharp coax at the other end of her phone. She rolls her eyes, because she knows he's most definitely not asking. He just wants to go. Charlie's not the same as Wen, with the whole taking-other-people's-wants into consideration; he just feels the rumble in his stomach and its go time.

"_Sure." _Her voice softens, like warm bread.

She has no idea why she doesn't say no. She's not hungry and she's sure she's not good at faking it, so it's futile.

**/**

"So—mfgh—we're not doing the song?" He manages to ask, in the midst of all the fry inhaling.

She laughs, because he eats like a silly dog. His fingers carry more than six fries, and well he eats them all in one bite. Olivia might have been surprised if she didn't know him, but she isn't. Charlie's very different compared to other people, and it's like the notion is a forgotten premise for most whom he's met.

His coffee, curled hair, somehow, strings in the way and she sees a fry get in his hair. He flips it off easily so, but the sight leaves her laughing.

"Did you just get a fry in your hair?" She mumbles lowly, voice soft and chiseled with laughter. He pouts like a puppy, offended.

"You don't have to bring it up." His hand falters from his mouth, slowly. "It's embarrassing as it is."

She laughs anyway, the flash in his eyes meaning no importance to her. Olivia thinks that maybe it's being a little mean, but really it's too funny to not laugh about. It makes her want to lean forward and laugh until she cries, but she stops herself. Her fingers were almost inclining towards the fries without her notice; she was going to eat despite the vacancy of hunger.

Next time, she'll remember to say no.

**/**

_Practice at 4.—O_

Johnny Rockets at 5?—C

Olivia knows it's not a question, and she doesn't necessarily want to say no anyway.

**/**

"I love onion rings."

He manages to say between the chewing and swallowing of the oval-shaped fried recipe in his hands. She laughs at how silly it all seems to come together, because she's actually enjoying this and he's still a mess. She's not even sure how he manages to make a chaos out of onion rings, but he's doing it, like some kind of advocate.

Olivia doesn't realize it, but the only light illuminating in the small table is the ceiling lamp. _They've been here for hours._

She can see the radiance cascade on his coffee curls, highlighting the bones of his cheeks—and Olivia thinks it looks like the back of a mountain during a horizon. It makes her uncomfortable to think so, but the thought processes before she can formulate a clear response. It's like there's a despite for everything, for how greasy his fingers are, or how he eats like a dragon. She fails to remember all of that when she catches the oily shine on his lips and the slopes carved into his cheeks.

She's eating the onion rings, before she can decide not to. "They're not _so_ bad."

**/**

He stops asking every Friday to eat. They just _go_.

**/**

"What's your favorite song—_old_?" She asks him one Friday, holding the straw between her teeth as she slurps the strawberry milkshake.

"Uh, wow," he laughs, running a hand through his scalp, "that's like really hard, Olivia. Uh, uh—geez—wait! I got one!"

Her eyes widen like the sun when she hears him exclaim. She's listening to his every word, though it's not important. Olivia thinks she should be worrying about this, but for some reason, she isn't. Drinking slowly, with a sudden hunger rumbling in her stomach, she listens to him as he speaks.

"'_Pour Some Sugar on Me' _by_ Def Leppard_." He smiles, pride in his chest—and just like a contagious virus—makes Olivia smile.

"Mine would have to be '_Man in the Mirror_." She replies, before swallowing the large hold of milk in her mouth. She doesn't really like milkshakes all that much, but she finds herself drinking it anyhow. There could be some use in ordering actual food, but it feels like some kind of strange twist in this story. She's not used to being the hungry one.

"—_I´m looking at the man in the mirror—!" _

She catches him in the middle of the chorus, when suddenly her view drifts. _He's singing._ His falsetto is an abysmal one, but she enjoys it nevertheless and it bothers her that she does. She's chugging the milkshake in her hand, and enjoying his off-key vocals. The smile on her face couldn't sting any worse.

"—_I´m asking him to change his ways!—_it's a classic." He stops finally, glancing at the blonde on the other side. His eyes altering into what she would like to call—curiosity. The milkshake in his hand is rested against the table. Charlie smiles, "you want to order a burger? I'll pay," an immediate shrug comes after.

She shouldn't. She won't. "Sure."

_She did._

**/**

"You're a mess."

His finger points at the stains on her chin, a coy smile evident.

She fumbles and her cheek goes crimson. She's not the one who gets messy, that's Charlie's job. He's laughing and pointing at her, and it looks like the roles have reversed. Her hands clamper for a tissue, for anything to get the grime off her face, but in a beat, his hands stop hers.

He's leaned over, his face inches from hers and he smiles. "I think you look better with it."

"Be quiet." She almost whispers, not being able to stop herself before she says it. The hairs on her arms raised with alarm, she's not used to being this close to him—close to anyone who_ isn't_ Wen. Her breath is faltering and she can almost see the intensity of the coffee colored swirls in his eyes.

"Here." He mumbles, taking the napkin from the table, before briefly wiping beneath her chin. She feels his fingers against the fabric and her stomach flops. His eyes seem to be lost in unclear thoughts for a moment, but then he backs away—quickly.

Her heart clutches a little and she tries not to cry from how bad she feels. _She almost kissed him._

**_/_**

They don't go to eat for a while.

Charlie, because he feels like an idiot, and Olivia, because she feels like a cheat for wanting so—though she still doesn't know what Wen and her are. They've been bouncing with each other for a while, and sometimes he implies they're together, but it's not stated—official. It's like they're not together.

She then, accuses herself of trying to justify the situation.

**/**

"I'm sorry." He tells her one day, during practice, when everyone's head is in different spectrums.

"It's okay." She squeaks, meekly.

"I really don't want us to be like, like—Mo and Scott, y'know? They're together and all boyfriend and girlfriend and yadayada—I don't want us to be that. I think I just want to hold your hand sometimes and see if it's like—I don't know—warmer than mine. I, I want to know everything there is about you, but," he stops, turning his head towards the ginger with his hands on the keyboard. "I'm not _tha_t, to you, _y'know_?"

Olivia's heart sinks, because it's the truth and it stinks, but mostly because she also kind of wanted what he wanted.

She wanted to see if maybe his hair's as soft as it looks, or if he'd buy coffee for her—stupid things like that—but she can't. She won't.

It's Wen, y_'know_? They're meant to be.

**/**

Two months and they go pretending nothing happened.

**/**

It's when she's doing homework one day.

Her stomach rumbles loudly and she immediately thinks about Johnny Rockets—onion rings, cheeseburgers and fries. She clasps her hand around her stomach, and she achingly wishes for Charlie and his rhetorical invites. It makes her feel stupid and naïve, which not even she understands. She wants Wen, right?

Right?—in a flip of a second, she sends Wen a text and hopes he replies quick—_righ_t.

_Do you want to go to Johnny Rockets?—O_

I can´t, I´m sorry :( I have a ton of research essays to do.—W

_Right._

**/**

Eventually, Olivia goes realizing Wen's never going to make anything or say anything—whatever it is—between them. That´s okay, maybe he´s not sure and maybe the time isn´t right, but…she doesn´t want to wait forever.

She _can´t_ wait forever.

**/**

"Wen, what are we?" She asks, quietly, her eyes unfolding.

"Um, I don't know," he scratches his ear, "_friends_? I mean, u—I've been meaning to tell you something."

Her heart jumps a little in her chest, because _it's happening_, but the feeling quickly vanishes. Olivia's smile fades just as it comes. She starts to think of Charlie and his brown curls. She reflects of cheekbones and greasy fingers and drum sticks and immediately her heart pounds.

"I think we should—"

"Wen, I can't choose you."

His eyes open wide and swirled with shock. The once concern flashed on his face exchanged with a tiny laugh. Olivia sits back and finds her chest aching from such a stupid outburst. Though the truth in it is stored, she feels like a bad liar anyway. It's not like she doesn't want him, it's that she can't want him. _She already wants someone else._

"I was going to say something like that, except a lot differently."

Her shoulder loosens and she instantly realizes that there's a disappearance of hurt, that _she did something right._

**/**

Things are normal after that; no one notices the unusual atmosphere of relief.

Olivia manages to catch the small glances Wen gives Stella, and it makes her smile shortly. Her gaze drifts to a certain drummer boy however, and she feels that smile extend to where it stings again.

/

"_I was thinking, uh, about what you said that day?" _

"_What?" _His voice is soft, like that bread from the cheeseburgers they used to eat.

"_About um—about y'know—just about maybe what we can do. Holding hands and me telling you things and doing stuff together? But—"_

"_Right, that's the key: but?" _He quips, laughter ringing on the other side of the phone. She hasn't smiled nor laughed since they've stopped whatever it was they had, so her hand encloses around her mouth for a minute. Her heart is already aching for a cheeseburger or greasy onion rings that'll make her get oily fingers.

"_But we don´t do those boyfriend and girlfriend stuff that has to do with that—y'know? I mean, do you want to? I know that you—" _

"_I mean, I don't need to kiss you, Olivia. I just, sometimes, really badly want to—I don't know—god, hold your hand? Do you, do you ever feel like that?" _For the first time, his voice changes from the usual coax, to the actual concern. She wonders if this means she should say no and go back to pretending they never had this routine. _¨I just need to know if you—"_

"_Yes, I do." _

Olivia finds then, that her wishes have always been in the matters of his mind.

**/**

The routine slivers its way back into their calendar.

**/**

"Your hands really are warmer than mine." He states, clasping his hands around both of hers. The stretched slope carved beneath his poignant cheekbones. _Olivia tries not to melt. _

She leans forward, as if everything is pushing her away and breathes deeply. He smells like _strong coffee _and_ cheeseburgers_, she's not sure how the combination works, it just does. Softly and feebly, she presses her nose against his shoulder. His arms wrap around her, like a soft blanket, and he kisses her forehead lightly.

"Come on, let's get onion rings."

Her stomach then, rumbles with excitement.


End file.
